Clarity
by AndiFrancis
Summary: Cormoran follows Robin out of the church... (Set immediately post CoE)
1. Chapter 1

"Where we going?"

Cormoran was sitting in the passenger seat, watching hedges and trees fly past the window. The car swerved slightly as she accelerated further through fifth gear. He felt his stomach leap as the car flew over a speed bump, Robin ignoring all sense to slow down. He glanced past her at the speedometer, which was slowly creeping past 100.

"Where are we going?" He repeated, louder this time. She ignored him, her hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, her knuckles whitening as fragments of her advanced driving course ran through her head. On her arm, he could make out the pink scar from where she was attacked in Catford a few weeks previously, and his stomach tightened.

It was less than ten minutes ago that she left the church without saying a word. She was never overly religious, but under the stone arches and stained glass windows she had had a perfect moment of clarity. Matthew had called after her, but Robin walked deftly down the aisle, whispers buzzing around her. She held Strike's gaze for a moment too long as she passed him, which he took as his cue. Stepping awkwardly over wet petals strewn on the floor, he followed her out into the weak sunshine.

The car swung wildly around a narrow bend, the white ribbon flapping furiously on the bonnet, finally gave up the fight, hitting the windscreen before it disappeared.

"Robin",

Strikes voice was softer now, he gently placed his hand on top of hers on the gearstick. She turned to him, her forehead damp with a sheen of sweat, tears prickling at the edges of her eyes. The car quickly began to slow down, as she turned right into a deserted rest area. It was little more than a lay-by, one old picnic bench overlooking rolling green fields below. She cut be engine and got out, her silk dress flowing in the breeze behind her. Strike followed. Leaning on the fence with her head bowed, he could hear her breathing heavily. He was starting to realise how much he had missed her, even though it had been less than a week since he had stormed into her flat in Ealing, furious and fired her.

"Look, about Brockbank -" he began, but she cut him off.

"I just walked out of my wedding. I can't believe I just... I just..." her voice stuttered, breaking off. She took a few deep breaths, determined to steady her resolve, then turned to face him. Her eyes widened, taking in the bruised deep purple swirls beneath his eyes, indicating a broken nose.

"What happened?"

"Laing", he figured a one-word explanation would suffice.

"You went looking for him yourself?" she asked with a strong hint of indignation which was not lost on Strike.

"Yeah, don't know who gave me the idea to do that", he said, unable to contain a smile.

"Why did you come?" she asked, nervously drumming the top of the fence with her fingers

"To see if you wanted your job back –"

"Yeah, but why today, why my wedding day?", her Yorkshire accent speeding up her sentences. This was no time to pretend.

He looked at her and simply shrugged. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly but his smile danced all the way up to his eyes. He had looked at her like this before. During long days in the office, in the Tottenham slightly worse for wear, on the rooftop at that party, with London glittering beneath them. She had also pretended it wasn't happening, while secretly filing his gazes away in her memory.

And just like that, she was undone. With two quick strides, she closed the space between them. Without a second thought, she leaned in and kissed him urgently, her hands on his chest.

Strikes brain was racing wildly, his hands cupped the sides of her face, drawing her in closer, savouring everything he could. He broken nose smarted on contact but he didn't care. It felt exhilarating, strange and familiar at the same time. He has played out this scene many times in his head before, in the small hours of the morning when sleep evaded him, the odd time he caught himself watching her work, biting her lip as she typed, when she stood beside him in that beautiful evening gown.

He never pictured her in a wedding dress, though. That thought brought him to his senses, as he took her hands from his face and pulled away.

"Robin, we can't..."

She stared at him, her face paling beneath her makeup, her throat working furiously.

A car passed on the road behind them, beeping the horn happily, the driver no doubt thinking he had spotted a new wed couple stealing a few private moments together.

"You don't... you don't want...", she began.

Her eyes glassy, she started to back away from him. The knot in Strikes stomach tightened, and suddenly he realised what he stood to lose.

 _Oh, fuck it._

He reached out a hand and pulled her back to his chest, kissing her like he was afraid she would disappear if he stopped.

" 'course I do", he replied breathlessly, in between kisses.

Afterwards, there was a content silence between them as Robin drove back to the church, obeying the speed limit this time.

Strike was the first to break it.

"You were still in your dress..." he began, attempting to explain his earlier hesitancy. The rational part of his brain, no matter how small, knew that she couldn't jump head first into something with him without first dismantling the last 9 years of her life.

"I know, I know", she smiled weakly.

Too soon, the church spire came into view. A handful of people milled about in the car park, Robin spotted her mum with her phone pressed to her ear but mercifully Matthew was nowhere to be seen. Strike spotted Shanker, leaning up against his car, smoking, drawing some odd looks from the remaining well-dressed wedding guests. He stuck out like a sore thumb. Before they parted, Robin took his hand and squeezed it briefly. Shanker raised an eyebrow at Strike as he passed by him to open the passenger door.

"Not a fucking word, mate"

It had been three days since he had seen her. Three whole days back in London, in his tiny office trying and failing to concentrate on work. With Charlotte, the job had always come first but this was different. He half heartedly trailed the few surveillance cases he had, ignoring the office phone ringing on Robin's desk, turning down potential new work. He passed hours over strong coffee in a café on the corner of Denmark street, punctured only by escaping to smoke. His finances were always up and down, and this was definitely not helping.

Only one text had punctured the limbo - "please be patient. R x"

He had received it the evening he returned, as he sat at his small kitchen table, weary from the long days travelling and Shanker's insistent jibes. When it had arrived, the screen light lit up his face and he couldn't help but smile. But her subsequent silence had left too much free time. Too much free time to allow doubts in his head to surface.

 _Are you really going to ruin the best professional relationship of your life for a shag?_

He brushed these thoughts away every time they surfaced. Robin was more than that. He had felt it, in the car three days before his feelings had consumed him. He just hoped she felt the same, that was had passed between them wasn't just a rebound reaction to leaving Matthew.

Robins three days had been somewhat different. The evening that was meant to be her wedding night morphed into something very different, long hours spent drinking strong tea at her family kitchen table, Rowntree lying at her feet. She tried and failed to allay her mother's fears. "But where will you live? The wedding, all those guests, you've spent nine years with him, you can just turn your back", she exasperated.

Comoran's name was mentioned infrequently, and after realising her daughter would not reveal anything, her mother stopped probing. Finally, a little after quarter to two in the morning, her father simply sighed, rolled his eyes to heaven and went to bed, the fairer sex even more of a mystery to him.

From time to time over the next few days, Robin mulled over her career. While she assumed she wasn't fired anymore (or, at the very least, Cormoran didn't hate her), they hadn't specifically talked the future. Was she asking too much to be happy both professionally and personally? Would the balance modern women crave continue to elude her? Or had their actions irrevocably tipped the scales one way?

She kept herself occupied, as she worked methodically, packing, sending apologetics emails to wedding guests, cancelling hotels. Her actions were robotic, and business like. She was simply going through the motions, much like the last few months of her relationship with Matthew. While she had tried to forgive him for cheating on her with Sarah, she just couldn't forget. And it wasn't just Sarah. Was it ever really about her? It was about Matts' insistence that she fit into the mould he created for her.

Even when he came over one evening, heavy footed and smelling of whiskey, she had little to say to him.

"You humiliated me, you walked out on our wedding! For him! Have long have you been with him?", his Yorkshire accent toughened by alcohol.

"You cheated on me for months! This isn't about Cormoran! This is about you!"

"This is all about him! Everything changed when you took that job. You're not the same person anymore"

Now it was Robin's turn to get angry.

"Damn right I changed. I found something I loved, something I am good at, something that actually makes a difference and you want me to give it all up! You undermined me every chance you got!"

Matt said nothing, shocked into submission by Robins outburst, and what he knew, deep down, was the truth. After all they have been through at university, he thought she would never leave him, and that was the way he liked it. She sat down on the couch, with her head in her hands.

"I can't do this anymore, I'm exhausted. Please just go"

And by the time she looked up, he was gone.

It was almost a relief to be on the train the next day, to return to London where blissful anonymity could swallow you whole. It was dark by the time Robins train pulled into Kings Cross, and before she realised, she was on a southbound northern line train, heading for Tottenham Court Road.

Strike looked up from his computer. It was late evening, the street lights flooding his small office in an orange glow. The bruises on his face were finally healing, now turning yellow, giving his tired face a jaundiced look. He had been absentmindedly drawing on an old envelope, drawing closer and closer circles until his pen went through the paper completely. His was no longer fighting his lack of focus. Yawning and stretching in his chair, he let his mind drift back to a memory he had replayed in his head many times over the past few days.

Their first time could almost have been called functional, inevitable, a means to an end they both knew was coming. Cautious to take her lead, he stopped kissing her when she broke away and didn't question her as she took his hand and took him back to the car. Fumbling in the back seat, his broad stature adding a tinge of awkwardness, they had barely undressed, just enough to feel hands and mouths and skin. She looked down at him, shockingly beautiful. He was dimly aware that he looked like shit. But Robin obliterated every thought in his head as her open lips shut on his, dying a little death inside. For her too, it had been different. She had only ever been with one man. Two, actually, piped up a little voice inside her head which she also fought so hard to silence. With Matthew their awkward teenage fumbling had seemed to follow them into their twenties. Cormoran was different. Passionate and sure of himself, his gaze never leaving hers, his hands pulling her closer still. Afterwards, he held her in his arms for a few minutes, not wanting the moment he had waited for to be over so soon.

As he gave her a moment to herself, he lit up a cigarette and leaned against the boot of the car, taking pressure off his prosthesis. He smiled ruefully, running a hand over his face. The last time he had had sex on a backseat, he still had both his legs.

Emerging at the top of the station steps, Robin walked briskly down Charing Cross road, crossing over to the opposite pavement to avoid the ever-present building work. Sometimes she wondered would London ever be finished. The street teemed with people, theatre goers spilling out from evening showings. Turning left past multiple music shops, her feet were on autopilot. If she were to stop her confidence would surely disappear.

The sound of footsteps on the spiral staircase pulled him back to the present. He made to get up, but before he was out of his chair Robin was standing in front of him, one small suitcase at her feet. She looked even more beautiful than the memories he had in his head, worn from overuse.

"Hi", he smiled at her, his one word greeting ringing in the space between them. "It's late, what are you doing here?"

"I came to pay the gas bill", she said, her smile meeting his.

Cormoran suddenly felt out of his depth, standing awkwardly with his arms hanging at his sides. Craving something to do, he turned away from her, towards the tiny kitchenette.

"Tea?", he proffered, without evening waiting for her reply he had flipped the switch on the kettle and started hunting for teabags.

"Please. Milk, no sugar"

He turned to her, half laughing. "I haven't forgotten".

The ended up on the couch, Cormoran clasping his mug, just to give him something to do with his hands. They chatted mundanely, him telling her about the latest cases and the suspicious look he got from Wardle when he caught side of his bruised face. Her hair had fallen from her clip and was hanging loose around her face. He leaned in and took the cup from her hands without a word, leaving in on the floor beside them. She was so much more to him than a tryst in a lay-by, he hoped she knew that. He placed a hand on her neck and felt her pulse quicken as he pulled her towards him. As he placed his lips on hers, her could feel her smiling. He never wanted to stop. Pushing one hand through her hair the other moved down from her face to trace her collarbone, and then to the soft swell of he breasts. It was all still so new, wonderful and exhilarating. Robin went to move underneath him but suddenly he pulled away and stood up, staring down at her.

"What's wrong?" she said breathlessly, through kissed lips, her hair mussed on one side.

Cormoran smiled and pulled her to her feet. After the backseat of a car, they could do much better than the dilapidated office couch. He led her out of the office, his good leg kicking the door to his flat closed behind them.


	2. Chapter 2

Robin rolled over, laughing gently into the pillow.

"What?", Strike asked indignantly.

"Nothing. Just didn't take you for the romantic weekend away type", she replied

"Steady on, we'll only be staying over a pub. And anyway, seems only fair since I did you out of a honeymoon". Strike hesitated before continuing. "Unless you've got something else you need to do this weekend."

Robin dropped her gaze and picked absent-mindedly at the duvet cover. As much as she was enjoying the bubble they had created in the flat above the office over the last couple of days, she really needed to find somewhere to live. She had been existing out of her small suitcase since returning to London, sleeping in Cormoran's t-shirts, her wardrobe and possessions scattered between Masham and Ealing. The flat was the last thing unresolved. She couldn't bring herself to sort it out, not yet. But give it a few more days and she would have to resort to washing underwear in the sink. Robin knew could not be working, sleeping and living with Cormoran – that would slowly become a disaster so early on in a relationship. But the thought of elbowing her way into the London rental market filled her with dread. She imagined herself living out in Zone 4 with stand-offish strangers as housemates facing a daily hellish commute to Denmark street. She knew he would never ask her to leave, but she needed to be practical.

"I don't know, I might have to work.", she looked up, grinning.

"Yeah, your partner is a slave driver."

She playfully punched his shoulder and Cormoran gathered her is his arms and pulled her onto his chest. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. Since the night she arrived back from Masham they had hardly left the flat, emerging only for dinner in a chaotic Asian restaurant on the edge of Chinatown. He loved everything about her body, her curves and soft skin, the sighs that he pulled from her were music to his ears. He hadn't felt like this about a woman in a long time, save the early heady days with Charlotte before the drama set in. He had never been embarrassed of his leg (or lack thereof). Many women had seen his stump. Some were curious, others pretended to ignore it and one or two seemed to like it a bit too much, something he could never quite get his head around. But on their first night in his flat, sitting down on his bed in front of her he felt his hands tremble as removed his prosthesis, leaving it leaning heavily against the wall. Robin had said nothing, but leant down to kiss him, her lips covering his as she gently placed one hand below his left knee, her fingers tracing the surgical scar.

Robin wrapped her arms around his shoulders, feeling a flash of pleasure as he moved between her thighs. Her fingers traced the length of his spine as their kisses became deeper, his hands pulling her hips closer as they moved in a passionate dance of give and take.

/

That afternoon, Strike looked up from his desk to find Robin frowning, her furrowed brow staring at her phone.

"Rob?"

"Rob – ", he tried again

Finally she looked up at him, her face miles away with her thoughts.

"Um, yes? Right, sorry", she said, flustered. "Email from the letting agent. They need the flat empty by Monday." The thought of going back to Ealing filled her with dread. Even though it had only been a few weeks since she lived there, everything had changed. She had kept herself occupied, her head with work, her heart with her new relationship with Cormoran. But almost a decade with Matthew was going to be hard to shake. The west London flat held a lot of memories, and for many years, Robin thought it held her sure and certain future.

"Sorry, I know you wanted to go away this weekend, but I guess I will have to get the rest of my stuff and hand back the keys." Robin truly was apologetic, this was the last thing she wanted to do.

Strike stood up, taking his coat from the back of his chair.

"I've some empty boxes upstairs, I'll get them"

Robin was touched by his practicality and his willingness to help. He gave her a reassuring wink as he walked by.

"No time like the present"

/

"So he think's his new employee is using the bookies to launder drug money?", she asked.

"It's possible. Whatever he's doing, he's good at it. Outwardly he seems like a model employee. This case might keep us busy for a while. How would you feel about moonlighting as a temp behind the counter? I think the only way to catch this guy might be to go undercover"

"Definitely", Robin replied, smiling. The train accelerated sharply out of White City station, and she grabbed onto the overhead pole for balance. She had firmly insisted he take the only available seat, in a show of gender equality and mock gallantry that made him smile. Her beloved creaking Defender was still parked up behind her family house in Masham, so this flat move was going to have to take place during the horrors of Friday afternoon rush hour. She was relieved, but not surprised that Strike was able to demarcate their personal and professional relationship. In their work environment, he treated her no differently that before they were together.

As they walked the short distance from the tube station, Robin reread scrap of paper containing the hastily written list of items to salvage. She took a deep breath as she beat the well-worn path to her old front door. She turned the key in the lock and a wave of stale air hit her. Comfortingly familiar, the scent of her old home, her old life. But it was tinged with something else that she couldn't put her finger on and briefly was brought back in her mind to the time she helped her father tidy up his childhood home after her grandmother passed away. Smiling to push her mind through her turbulent thoughts, she took an empty box from Cormoran and made her way to the bedroom.

Strike watched Robin to-and-fro from the bedroom as he stacked cookbooks in a box. The last time he was here he had yelled at her, fired her and stormed out. He was painfully aware of how close he had become to losing her, all through his own actions. He loved her. He hadn't said it yet, but he did. Never overly fluffily romantic, he was steadfast and dedicated in his relationships. Charlotte put him through the mill and yet he still found himself going back for more. Robin cast a completely different spell.

"Almost done", she said, smiling and leaned in for a quick hug.

"Is that the one you wanted?", Strike asked, gesturing to the small lamp on the side table.

"No, it's the one in the bedroom, can you grab it for me please?"

Robin's eyes scanned the kitchen, it was almost bare. Matthew must have been here already, his wardrobe was empty, the shoe rack by the door revealing a coating of dust. Suddenly, she heard the latch click and the front door swung open. He stood on the threshold, holding a worn Ikea bag, his face blank and resigned, his eyes widening as he realised she was there.

"Matt – "

"Ellacott, is this the lamp you were looking for?" Strikes voice called from the bedroom, and then stopped abruptly when he realised they had company. Matts jaw tightened, as he stared at Strike in disbelief, that the man who had ruined his relationship had the audacity to stand in his flat. Swiftly it dawned on him, as he saw Strikes smile fade from his face, that they really were together. He had had his suspicions of course, which he made clear from day one, but a small part of him believed Robin when she said she didn't walk out on their wedding for him. He felt like such a fool

Saying nothing, he pushed past Robin into the kitchen and took his frustration out on hastily cramming his bulky coffee maker into the plastic bag.

"Matt, I- ", Robin started, but he cut her off.

"And to think you made it out to be all my fault." His voice was full of salt and spite, his face hard and angry.

Matt held up a hand and shook his head as Robin started to protest. He actually didn't care what she had to say.

"Didn't take you long, did it", he spat at her as he walked past.

Strike was sorely tempted to knock him out. He was long past his peak of army physical fitness, but he would have put a sizable bet on putting sending Matthew crashing to the floor with his foot on his neck in two moves. He held his nerve and Matt banged the door behind him. The noise reverberated around the small hallway and seemed to hang in the silence.

A wave of nausea washed over Robin, she felt her face flush, a lump build in her throat, the beginning of tears stinging the corners of her eyes. A small foolish part of her wished for an amicable break-up, but Matt's wounded pride would never allow for it.

"You ok?"

Cormoran had crossed the space between them, staring intently at her with hesitant concern. He didn't doubt her feelings for him but knew all too well the strangle-hold old relationships can have. Robin took a deep breath to steady her nerves. He emotive reaction had taken her by surprise. She was standing in her old flat, in her old life, but at the start of something new.

"I'm fine".

She meant it.

Cormoran smiled and held his hands out. She crushed herself against his chest as his arms wrapped around her.

/

Even Robin admitted she couldn't face the tube. They sat holding hands like teenagers as the black cab made slow progress on the Hammersmith tapped the glass partition. "There's going to be an extra stop mate, sorry. Fulham Broadway please"

"Wardle can't seem to get rid of me. Apparently our bookmaker friend has gotten the attention of the Met Police. He wants to meet to see what I have on him. Won't be more than an hour."

He kissed Robin softly on the lips before he left the taxi

"See you at home", she called after him. The cab had pulled back into the evening traffic before he realized what she had said. He smiled and stepped over a puddle. Home.

/

Robin finally heaved the last box off the pavement of Denmark street and into the gloomy office hallway, shoving the stiff door behind her. Grabbing as much as she could carry, she started on one of many journeys up the narrow stairs to the flat. She was smiling despite the chore, thinking ahead to definite glass of wine she would be having that evening. With no free hand to hit the light switch, she didn't see the person with the black eye and bloody lip sitting on the landing until she almost tripped over her. It took her eyes a second to adjust, then widen. Charlotte Ross was leaning against Strike's office door.


	3. Chapter 3

"Six pounds forty please"

The cashier's lacklustre tone of voice was matched by her equally bored, gum chewing expression.

Robin faltered, fingers scrabbling in her purse for the correct change. It was only now she realised that her hands were clammy, her heart pounding. She left the shop clutching a small paper bag containing cotton gauze, anti-septic solution and a cold pack. Desperate to escape the office which seemed now infinitely smaller with the arrival of Charlotte, she volunteered to go to the nearby chemist as all she could find in the small kitchenette was paper towels.

Robin had greeted Charlotte with an eerie sense of deja-vu, as she recalled the only time they had ever met before was in the exact same spot. Genuinely taken aback by her facial injuries, she had ushered her into the office, feeling empathy for a woman she barely knew, her injuries taking her back to her own assault at university when for weeks after she avoided mirrors. Now she sat in the middle of the low-slung sofa, clutching a hastily made cup of strong sweet tea while Robin dabbed at the blood congealing below her lip. She ignored Robin's gently probing questions with a vacant expression. Mercifully, Robin heard the stiff door downstairs swing shut and heavy awkward footsteps ascend the stairs that could only belong to Cormoran.

"Ellacott, are these boxes going to live in the hall forev- "

Strikes voice came to an abrupt halt as he took in the hunched figure sitting on the couch. Even from behind, he recognized his ex-fiancé instantly. Robin met his gaze, eyes wide with palms faced upwards, silently communicating that she had no idea what was going on.

"Charlotte. Nice surprise. What are you doing-"

For the second time in as many minutes, Strike's voice faltered as Charlotte lifted her chin. While her lip now looked better, he left eye was bruised and bloodshot.

"Bloody hell."

Strikes concern was authentic as he leaned against Robins desk, dipping his head to Charlotte's level.

"What happened? Who did this to you?" He resisted the instinctive urge to reach a hand to her cheek.

"I had an abortion". Charlotte voice was devoid of emotion as Robin inhaled sharply.

"I was never the maternal type. So when I found out I was pregnant it was the only way to go for me. I never told Jago, least said soonest mended and all that. But his sister found out, silly girl picked up the after-care leaflet when it fell out of my handbag this afternoon. She lost the plot completely, accusing me of ruining Jago's happiness, robbing him and the family of future generations. She didn't like what I had to say and then…" she trailed off, gesturing to the left side of her face.

Strike was torn between concern for a woman who had just been attacked, and anger that she chose his door to appear at, at this time, with this problem, knowing that she could manipulate his emotions. It was as if she knew that he was finally happy but was determined have her pound of flesh.

"So she attacked you?"

"I gave as good as I got, you know me Bluey", Charlotte said wheedling with a crooked smile on her face, out of sync with the situation. All traces of the tearful, tepid woman Robin had been tending to just minutes before had vanished replaced with one of a mercurial nature.

"Why did you come here, Charlotte?". He stared at her pointedly.

Strikes face was stony, his voice exasperated as if he had heard this all before. He held up a hand to prevent her answering, as if he wasn't bothered by the reply that would be full of manipulation.

"You have plenty of friends. I'm not a part of your life anymore", as he gave Robin a reassuring glance.

Charlotte stared at Robin intently, then flicked her head towards Strike and the one moving box that had made it inside the office door, until the penny dropped. With a dawn of realisation that she wouldn't get whatever she came for – Cormoran's concern, his help, his love - she picked up her handbag.

A catty, sweetly evil smile played on her lips as she turned to leave, determined to save face. Strike let out a muffled exhalation of relief as he watched her go. Determined to have the last word, she called over her shoulder,

"You'll never love anyone like you loved me".

 **~oOo~**

Strike elbowed his way through the leftover crowd of evening drinkers as he entered the Duke of York to order a round of drinks. He ordered a large whiskey and before the glass half full of amber had hit the bar, he knocked it back in one gulp, the Jameson stinging and warming the back of his throat.

Sitting at the small table beside the empty fireplace where they had frequented before, Strike drank two thirds of his pint of London Pride before he launched into a deserved explanation. Robin listened without judgement. Despite the tricky topic, it was cathartic to open up to her about his past with Charlotte. To finally acknowledge the strangle-hold she held over him was surprisingly freeing. Like a bacon roll to cure a hangover, he finally felt clear-headed.

After her second glass of wine, Robin was desperate for the loo. She stayed an extra minute in the damp smelling cubicle. Charlotte's parting words were stuck on a loop in her head and seemed to be amplified by the narrow tiled walls. They had been together for 16 years. She had hardly been with Cormoran for 16 days. Selfishly she wished she could enjoy the bliss of a new relationship without complications but everyone had a past. His had just materialized on Denmark Street, elbowing its way into their lives, disrupting their balance. She made her way back to the table, dropping a full pint glass onto the beer mat in front of him.

"Cormoran, did she mean what she said when she left?"

Strike swallowed slowly, he knew this question was coming.

"It's a mind fuck. She's good at that, likes to think she can plant ideas in other peoples' heads. And it's not true", he said earnestly, reaching out his right hand to cover hers, imploring her to believe him.

"Its not true", he repeated, taking a deep breath. "Robin I, I…"

A soft smile played on his lips as his throat worked furiously. Robin could sense the moment that was hanging in the air between them. She didn't want those three words from him to be a reflex action, a band-aid to ease the wound of the events of that day.

"I know. I believe you", she said, cutting him off, smiling. She really did.

Cormoran put his arm around Robin as they left the pub, smiling to himself as he remembered the last time he did this. She had been drowning her sorrows in Sauvignon Blanc, telling him about Matthews affair. His arm around her waist then was a steadying friendly one, but he was so happy that tonight as they walked down Rathbone street together he didn't have to let go.

 **~oOo~**

Strikes flat while always small was now comically tiny with the arrival of Robins boxes. So much so that when he sat up in bed the next morning, he couldn't find his prosthesis. Robin was already awake and in the bathroom, the drain gurgling water as she finished her shower.

The door opened, venting steam. Robin stepped out wrapped in a white towel, her hair lying damp against the shoulders, her pale skin faintly pink from heat.

"Morning"

Strike raised an eyebrow and smiled at her. He couldn't remember when he had last awoken to such a sight that made his chest lift, his stomach tighten.

"I can't find my leg", he said, deadpan.

Robin stifled a laugh. From the corner of her eye she spotted a glint of metal prosthesis sticking out from behind a box of cookbooks.  
"Well if you can't get up…" she said teasingly as she walked over to the bed and sat on his lap. Her hands found the sides of his neck as her thumbs grazed his stubble, her towel riding dangerously hips on her hips. He tilted his head to kiss her, savouring her lips. His hands traced her upper thighs before coming to rest splayed on her lower back. The ends of her damp hair tickled his neck. Robin looped her arms around his shoulders pulling him even closer still, while internally he briefly cursed himself for all the time he had wasted without acting on his intentions, all the time he had wasted without her.


	4. Chapter 4

Robin crumpled up the plastic bedsheet cover and flopped down on the small queen bed. She knew that if she tried she could touch both walls at once if she stretched out her arms. Still she was grateful for this small anonymous room in the third floor flat of an old red bricked Georgian house in Highgate. It had exposed floorboards that creaked, a small extinct corner fireplace that she planned to fill with column candles, and a heavy sash window. If she craned her neck just right she could see down towards the tall buildings of the City. Cormoran had begrudgingly helped her move the previous day. He liked having her around far too much, to the point of almost feeling greedy. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so happy, to go to bed with her and wake up beside her day after day. Robin's new housemate was Elaine Fraser, an airline steward in her early thirties who click-clacked through the flat in heels and seemingly impossible neat hair at all hours of the day and night. She had few rules – no smoking, keep it tidy – and an unbothered air of someone who had seen and handled it all at 30,000 feet. Her current contract kept her on long haul flights to Kuala Lumpur – "I'm never here!", so Robin was grateful to have the place to herself the first night she moved in, enjoying the peace and quiet.

Her gaze landed on the clothes she had just pulled off – jeans, green t-shirt, clear lensed glasses and a peroxide blonde wig. That coupled with an Essex accent completed her persona while working in the bookies in Fulham Broadway. The manager had given her part time hours three times a week and after just one day she had realised that the suspicious employee was adding value to the locals betting slips. Old timers who normally placed a fiver on Celtic to win the derby were now betting fifty and one hundred quid at a time, unknown to them. He had increased their number too, forty bets apparently registered on the electronic system on a morning when Robin only served three customers, one of which wanted the loo. Strike had been filling Wardle in on the developments. He was impressed with Robin's tactics and was happy to let them stay on the case for the time being, off the record. "Off the pay-roll, more like", joked Strike when Wardle told him. The Met Police were hoping to apprehend the knight of the drugs ring, not just the pawn fronting the day-to-day.

Robin tossed and turned that night, unable to get used to her new bed. Her brain and her heart felt ill at ease, disconnected. It was her decision to move out and stake her independence, find her own few square feet of London and yet she missed the endless background hum of Denmark Street, and sleeping shape of Cormoran beside her.

~oOo~

Strike hadn't slept well either. He spent several extra minutes in the shower, willing the warm water to wake him up. Robin hadn't even been gone a day and he missed her already. Her perfume lingered on his pillow and had kept him awake for hours, playing over in his mind what he would much rather be doing if she was lying there beside him. He chided himself for his feelings – that now, in his late thirties a woman could still make him feel this way. He wiped the steam from the bathroom window and caught himself smiling down at the sink as he realised she had left her toothbrush behind.

Robin ran the last few steps as she crossed Denmark street, ducking into the office doorway to escape the rain. She had been running late. Her train had been held at a red signal outside of Kentish Town for what seemed like an age as she stood at an awkward angle, squashed in between a suited banker and the tube door. Strike finally heard her steps on the stairs and stood up from his desk so he could pull her through the open office door and into his arms.

"Why did you move out?" he whispered against her hair, the question sounding like an exasperated groan. Robin smiled as his stubble scratched her cheek, his lips moving down to kiss her neck. His hands found the curve of her waist, plucking ineffectually at her blouse tucked into her trousers. Her hands moved from the warmth of his chest to the back of his head, pulling him closer, making their kisses deeper. She felt brief palpitations in her chest as his tongue gently parted her lips. Cormoran forgot all around him, the office he stood in as he felt the familiar ache grow in his groin, mirrored sharply by a pleasurable fullness that sprung to life in his chest whenever he caught sight of her. He pushed her hand bag off her shoulder and craved to take her upstairs to his unmade bed or even here, right here in his office if only his damned leg would let him. His thoughts left him breathless, his breathing ragged as they broke apart, Robins sparkling eyes staring at him.

"Let's not run before we can walk", she said, answering his question with a teasing smile.

"Is that meant to be a leg joke?" Cormoran stifled a laugh and reluctantly let her go, smoothing her blouse with his hands in an attempt at respectability.

"Sleep well?" he inquired, raising his eyebrows

"Actually no… something was missing"

He smiled and turned to fill the kettle as Robin filled him in on the previous day's events at the bookies.

"So, we know how the money is getting in, but how is he funneling it out again?"

"Well, that's next", she replied smiling. Strike was impressed with her determination. While they had always worked collaboratively in the past she was hitting all the right notes with this case so he was happy to let her lead.

~oOo~

Two days later, Robin felt like she was flying. The undercover job at the bookies was going well, every day she was able to a uncover a bit more evidence to her theory and was beginning to think there was more than one employee involved. She has spent the morning taking bets for Epsom Downs and had now just let herself back into the empty office on Denmark street. She pulled the blonde wig from her head with a contented sigh and scratched at her scalp – the itch had been driving her mad. Suddenly the office door crashed open, the force of it hitting the filing cabinet causing the glass window to crack. Three men stormed through the door, two wearing motorcycle helmets, one with a shaved head and a scarf pulled up to his eyes.

"There's that blonde bitch!"

Robin froze, terrified. She thought to scream but then it was too late. One of the men grabbed her roughly by the shoulders with one gloved hand over her mouth and knocked her to the floor behind her desk. Her head collided with the corner of the metal filling cabinet as she fell, her entire skull reverberating in pain. Her fingernails frantically scrabbled on the carpet for something, anything she could use as a weapon, her fear mounting as she remembered her pepper spray and phone were in her handbag on the coat stand.

"Not so smart now are you?" The man with the scarf dipped his head so they are almost nose to nose, Robin felt his hot stale breath on her cheek. From inside Cormoran's office she heard glass smashing as they trashed his computer. The contents of her desk rained down around her as they took a crowbar to the cheap wood.

Strike pulled out his phone as he waited for the lights to change at Cambridge Circus. He was annoyed. His new client had failed to show at their first meet, getting cold feet about wanting to catch his fiancé having an affair. That coupled with the lifts at Leicester Square tube station being out of order meant his leg was killing him and he had wasted the whole morning. With any luck he could tempt Robin to join him for lunch and turn the day around. When she didn't answer her mobile, he dialed the office instead.

Robin fought for breath as the sole of a rubber boot pushed down on her neck. The worn carpet stifled her scream as a second foot stamped on her fingers. Her head was throbbing so violently she felt nauseous. But from underneath the pain she felt furious, furious that for the third time in her life she was under attack and helpless. From somewhere beside her, the office phone started to ring. She tried in vain to lift her head, but she was completely pinned down. She started to feel fuzzy as she struggled to breathe. She reached out blindly for the phone and managed to hit the answer button before it was knocked from her hand.

Strike pressed a hand to his ear as an ambulance under full lights and sirens screeched down the street beside him. All he could hear on the other end of the line were muffled thuds, rough Mancunian accents and a faint whelp of pain. Sweat beads form on his forehead as he broke into a clumsy run barking at tourists to move out of his way. The line was still open but he couldn't hear anything clearly. His stump screaming in pain he rounded the corner of Denmark street in time to see two mopeds skid away from his office in the direction of Shaftsbury Avenue.

A flash of golden hair stumbles into the street, running after them. It takes him a second to realise who it is.

"ROBIN!"

She continued to run for a few seconds but then gave up the inevitable chase and turned towards him. Strikes eyes widen as he took in the gash on her forehead and the bruises on her neck. A man entering Hank's Guitar shop stops to glance over at them. Londoners are jaded but not jaded enough to ignore a young woman bleeding in the street. Robin noticed this too and before they can attract anymore unwanted attention, she hurried back through the doorway and up to the office, Strike close behind her.

"Robin! Stop! Jesus, slow down!"

Strike couldn't keep pace with her as she ran up the stairs. His mouth gaped open as he glanced at the destruction of his office. The floor is littered with files, furniture upended. Spikes of broken tea mugs and stationery dot the floor. In the centre of the chaos Robin stood furiously dabbing at her forehead with a wad of kitchen towel.

He reached out to place his hands on her shoulders, but she shrugged him off and backed away.

"It was the Fulham drug gang. It must have been them. They followed me back here to send us a message. I must have led them right to us. I didn't even realise they were following me. I've gotten lazy, complacent, I'm sorry..." Her voice tailed off as she wrung her hands together in frustration. Her teeth chattered even though she wasn't cold. Left over adrenaline was still coursing through her body.

"They said to stay out of their way. That this was bigger than us. Bigger than you" She finally lifted her head and met his eyes.

"Did they… attack you?" Strikes stomach flipped over as he heard himself saying the words.

"They knocked me to the ground. I hit my head on the filing cabinet. I couldn't move they had me pinned down – "

"So, you decided to run after them?" Strike interrupted incredulously

"Don't tell me you wouldn't have done the same thing!" Her voice cracked. "They were wearing helmets, I couldn't ID them. I chased after them to get something – number plates – anything!"

He falters. She's right, of course she's right. But he's angry with her. He hasn't been this angry with her since she accosted Brockbank in his own home. He couldn't fault her instincts. In both predicaments she had been right, but her execution was less so. Her disregard for her own safety hurt him like knives to his chest. But when he got down to brass tax, the woman he loves was standing before him bruised and bleeding and it's all because of a job he gave her.

"Nothing has changed Cormoran! I am still a partner in this agency!"

"Everything's changed!" Strike roared at full force. "I love you!"

The carnage in his office seemed to melt away, going fuzzy in his peripheral vision. Not that he had planned it, but this was not how he had pictured telling Robin how he felt for the first time. The havoc in his office and the blood in her hairline were a far cry from a lazy morning in bed or an evening over a bottle of wine. He seemed resigned that complicated relationships were going to be his lot in life. Nothing would be easy, but Robin was definitely worth it.

He walked towards her and placed a hand on her face, tilting her chin. He kissed her desperately as if physically trying to make the words sink in. He repeated it once, twice in between caressing her lips with his until she finally pulled away. She stared into his expectant face.

"Cormoran –" she swallowed.

"I think we should call the police".

~oOo~

 _Authors note: I had a glass of wine in the Duke of York pub last Friday and they played some Blue Oyster Cult. I took that as a sign to keep writing…_ 😊


	5. Chapter 5

Strike took a long slow drag and finished the last of his cigarette, stubbing the butt out beneath his prosthesis. He stood at the end of a long ramp leading to the Accident and Emergency department, ignoring the smoke-free hospital signs around him. His large frame and disgruntled expression prevented a passing porter pushing an empty wheelchair from accosting him. The evening traffic stood in gridlock in front of him, snaking its way under Waterloo rail bridge. From behind him, he heard the melody of Big Ben in three bars, telling him it was a quarter to six. The atmosphere was tense in the office when the police arrived, two uniforms Strike hadn't met before, bored and exasperated at yet another robbery in central London. Robin was cool and efficient giving an impressively detailed account of what happened. She initially declined to go to hospital, but he ignored her and flagged down black cab driving past the office. In the back of the car, they didn't speak, the silence becoming almost awkward as they crossed Westminster bridge.

Now, two hours later, the laceration on her forehead had been sutured and she was waiting for the results of her CT scan before she could be discharged. Strike wandered back through the double doors and into the maze of corridors until he finally found the Minor Injuries Unit.

"Can you let me in please? I'm visiting someone. I just stepped outside for a smoke." A nurse he hadn't seen before at the reception desk started clacking on her keyboard.

"Patient name?"

"Robin Ellacott"

"And who are you to her?" she asked with a Scottish lilt.

Strike faltered. Colleague? Friend? Boyfriend? He settled on the most diplomatic

"I'm her partner".

"Bed 2, on your left". The automatic door swung open.

Robin was pulling on her coat and chatting to a young bespectacled doctor when he found her.

"Good to go?" he enquired as she wound her scarf around her neck.

"No harm done. Scan was clear", she replied resolutely avoiding his gaze.

Strike couldn't handle the atmosphere anymore, so he pushed through it, stepping towards her and took her hands, his thumb grazing the plastic hospital band on her wrist.

"Robin – "he started softly. She cut him off.

"I think I'll go home and get an early night. It's been a long day. See you on Monday." She ignored his offer to accompany her home, a squeeze of his hand the only reassurance she gave him as she turned and left him surrounded by beeping monitors, harried staff and the chaos of other peoples' lives.

~oOo~

Strike ended his call and walked into the first bar he past. He always thought it was a strange spot for an Irish pub, wedged in between the neon commotion of Leicester Square and the MSG fug of Chinatown. He sat down heavily at a corner table after ordering a pint of larger, the events of the day wearing him down. His glass was near empty by the time Wardle arrived, who greeted him with a fresh pint and a bemused expression.

"Why didn't they send you?" Strike asked. "I had to deal with two uniforms who knew nothing about the case."

"Easy bruv, I'm allowed have a day off you know. Anyway, I've been brought up to speed. We'll have to take it off your hands now, this obviously goes way higher up the food chain that we originally thought. Your partner ok?"

Before Strike could answer, he continued. "What was she doing there anyway? I thought she would be still away on her honeymoon".

"Yeah, that didn't happen", he said evasively, his face flushing, betraying the secret he fought to conceal with his words. He stared pointedly into the bottom of his pint and picked absent-mindedly at the beermat beneath.

"Did you have something to do with that?" Wardle read the situation perfectly and got straight to the point.

"Maybe"

Strike ran a big hand over his tired face and days old stubble and couldn't help but smile, and then almost choke as Wardle clapped him on the back.

"Fucking finally! Took you long enough. Come on mate, don't deny she's perfect, anyone can see that. "

"Yeah well I think I scared her off"

"What did you do, put your foot in it and declare yourself or something?"

Strike was almost irritated by his ability to figure him out so quickly but at least it made his reply easier. The pub was noisy now, the bass lines from the background music built up in his throat like oversized antibiotics, making his voice stick. Or else it just the topic of conversation - he rarely talked to anyone about his relationships. He nodded.

"Nah mate, the Robin I've met doesn't scare that easily. There has to be more to it than that."

Strike considered Wardle's words carefully as he drained his glass. Maybe he was right. His relationship with Robin had taken forever to get started but had then moved so fast in a passionate frantic whirl. His upbringing, Charlotte and his career both in and after the army made him almost immune to constant drama. Maybe Robin just needed some time out to recalibrate. He couldn't blame her for that.

"Is that why you got me here? For a deep and meaningful on a Friday night?"

"Oh, piss off", Strike replied facetiously, but with more hope that he had had all day.

~oOo~

Robin's mother arrived on her doorstep midway through Saturday morning, having taken a taxi, a train and finally a tube to come down from Masham to visit her daughter. Robin rang her the previously evening while she sat reclined on the couch, a bag of frozen peas slowly defrosting on her forehead. She has filled her in on the highlights of the day but as she described the robbery her voice started to crack. The glass of wine she had on top of the prescription pain killer she had taken had been a bad idea and left her feeling weepy. Elaine wouldn't be home until Tuesday night and Robin had admitted to herself before that every person she knew in London was Matthew's friend. The thought of spending the weekend alone with the images of the attack running on shuffle through her mind made the ache in her head seem to worsen. So she let her mother fuss and cluck around her, making endless cups of strong Yorkshire tea that she had brought with her from home.

To fend off cabin fever, they walked the short distance to Hampstead Heath. The park was busy, it seems like all of north London was out to enjoy the sunshine and forget the city. Joggers fought for space with buggies on the narrow gravel paths. The swimming ponds were heaving and out of nowhere there was an eruption of squealing as a red setter jumped in with a splash to join the fun. Robin almost felt breathless as they continued up the gradual incline to Parliament Hill.

"Have you spoken to Matt?", Linda asked.

They had finally reached the viewpoint. London's fractured skyline spread out before them. Robin squinted to find the spire of St Pauls' before she answered.

"Not since the day I moved out of the flat."

"Do you not think all the years you spent together warrants another conversation?" Linda's words were challenging but her tone was soft.

"We've said all we need to say". She kicked at the gravel, scuffing the side of her trainer.

"Darling, marriage is full of ups and downs, mistakes and indiscretions. Its hard work, anyone will tell you that. Your father is worried. You know he is very fond of Matt. He wants to know if you have come to your senses – his words, not mine."

"It wasn't just that mum. I think he hated me becoming successful at something. Ever since what happened in uni, it was as if he liked me being broken and dependant on him. He belittled every attempt I made to stake out some happiness for myself. My job is what I want, it's what I love and he wanted me to give it up. And he cheated on me for months! I couldn't start married life like that. It was just too much."

Robin broke off, her shoulders sagged and her voice collapsed into heaving sobs but she forced her way though, wiping her nose of the back of her hand. "So, if you are asking me if I've come to my senses, I suppose yes, I have!"

Linda accepted her answer with a sad slow nod of her head. She was genuinely distraught that she had never realised that Matt wasn't the steady rock they all believed him to be, but rather an anchor weighing Robin down.

"I'm sorry about the wedding mum. I'll pay you and Dad back, I promise." Even though Robin had no idea how she would manage that financially she had to say the words.

"Don't worry about that at all my love, we just want you to be happy – myself and your father."

"Thanks, Mum."

Linda leaned in towards her and gave her a comforting one-armed hug. Robin felt like a dead weight she had been carrying for far too long had finally lifted from her shoulders.

~oOo~

They carried on walking from back to Highgate Hill and stopped in a small café. Strangely, Robin always enjoyed drinking hot tea on a warm day. She attacked her scone with raspberry jam and wondered how long she would have until she would have to mention Cormoran.

"Where did you stay before you found your new place?" Linda asked the loaded question with feigned nonchalance.

Not long, then.

"Eh, at the flat above the office… with Cormoran" Robin took a big gulp of tea to wash away the crumbs that were making her throat even drier.

"Are you together?" Her mother got straight to the point.

Robin couldn't fight the smile that spread across her face.

"Yes... I love him mum, I think I've loved him for a long time." She took a deep breath to steady her nerves before she met her mother's gaze. Linda had a reassured smile on her face of that of a mother who knew all along.

"I was wondering when you were going to tell me"

"You knew?"

"Darling, you left the church with him! It wouldn't take a genius to figure that out. I never seen you look more certain of yourself then when you walked out that door."

Robin burst out laughing, blushed and almost knocked her cup over as the memories of that afternoon washed over her. In hindsight it almost felt like an out of body experience.

"And you always spoke so highly of him", her mother continued. "Ever since you started working together you seemed stronger, it was like you had found yourself again. And a small part of me figured it couldn't just be the job by itself making you feel that way, no matter how much you loved it. When will I get to meet him properly?"

Robin sipped her tea slowly to give her a chance to formulate her answer. How could she admit to her mother that her new relationship – that she had turned her whole life around for – could be on the rocks already?

"We had a fight. Yesterday, after the office was robbed. He thinks I'm putting myself in danger for the job. I was reckless, I suppose…but now he wants me to take a step back. I can't just work behind the desk!"

"Darling, you can't blame him for being upset -"

"But this job comes with inherent risks. He knows he be so worried if I wasn't a woman? If we weren't together? Have I just shot my career in the foot because I fell in love?" Robin dropped her head into her hands, emotionally worn.

They walked in silence back towards the flat, Linda's advice ringing in her ears – talk to him, sort things out, don't let it fester. Robin saw him first as they turned onto her street. Cormoran stood waiting on the steps outside her door. He seemed at odds with himself, his broad figure tinged with apprehension, his hands steepled under his chin. She felt her mother's hand on her arm.

"Oh, would you believe it, I've let my hat in that café – see you in a bit". Linda was gone before Robin could protest. She smiled to herself. Her mother could size up situations quicker than most. And she hadn't worn a hat in years.

As Robin reached her flat, she watched Cormoran reach out a hand to the door and let it linger there, as if willing someone to appear.

"It's customary to knock, you know".

~oOo~

"How's the head?" Cormoran sat heavily on the couch beside her, feeling more nervous that he had been in a long time.

"Not too bad, stings from time to time." Robin felt flustered. The feeling that rose in the pit of her stomach and the quickening of her breath in her chest were all too real. She fought an almost overwhelming urge pull him towards her, their row from the previous day now seemed distantly irrelevant.

"Robin, I know how much this job means to you. I'm not going to hold you back. You're too brilliant for that. You just need to work smarter. You're the brains, I'm the brawn, ok?" Strike reached out and took her hand, tangling his fingers in hers. She met his eyes, which were fixed on hers. "I'm sorry if it got a bit too intense yesterday, I just really want this – us – to work."

Relief washed over Robin as she realised Cormoran knew exactly what had been troubling her without even having to ask. She felt a flutter of hope grow in her chest as maybe, just maybe, they could make their complicated relationship work.

"I do too."

She leaned in to kiss him but he stopped her, placing a hand on her cheek.

"Do you remember that publishing party we went to? For Roper Chard?"

Robin was puzzled by the sudden tangent but went with it. "The rooftop? Yeah, I remember."

"I really wanted to kiss you that night" Strikes voice was low, his lips almost humming the words. His hand had moved down from her face, his thumb tracking her collarbone.

Robin felt her pulse quicken. "I think I would have let you."

Cormoran's eyes widened at her response as he remembered how she looked that night, stunning in an off the shoulder black gown. If only he had the balls to make his move then he could have been loving her – and making love to her – for months.

"What would you have done?" Her question felt thick in her mouth.

"This – ", his one-word reply laced with conviction.

He brought his hand back to her face and his fingers tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. He stared at her with raw wantedness, as if he had never kissed her before. His eyes met hers and then dropped lower and lower to her lips. He leaned in and kissed her tenderly, as if asking a question. His lips were light on hers but quickly grew deeper as her hands wrapped around the back of her neck, pulling him closer. He felt a familiar ache grow in his groin and pulled her closer into his arms. Robin felt herself shudder with glorious apprehension as his fingers unbuttoned her jeans and his warm hand slipped inside her underwear. He felt agonisingly close but still not close enough. She kissed him frantically and moved to meet his touch again and again, his fingers invading her, finding the sweetest of spots until the growing knot of heat unravelled sharply, causing her to cry out. Strike watched her with rapt attention as pleasure flushed her face. Limp in his arms, he kissed her softly until her breathing returned to normal. When she finally opened her eyes, his were dark with lust until he suddenly smiled, as if remembering something.

"And then I would have asked for my jacket back. It was bloody freezing up there."


End file.
